Guybani Greizla, the serpent sorcerer

The Agate Temple was burning, it's masters laying bloated and black from serpent venom, now smoldering amidst the flames. Guybani Greizla leered over the carnage and ruin with a vicious smile, his serpents coiling about his shoulders.

They'd known he was coming, the omens had been read, interpreted and debated, but the old masters were recalcitrant, unwilling to accept that their long eras of eldritch dominion were being brought to a violent end at the hands of an upstart that had been exiled ignominiously and left to the merciless jungles of Rabat, presumedly to certain death. Yet he had survived, had thrived, for he'd found an environment whose viciousness resonated with his own.

He'd been drawn by the sibilant whispers of Atuar, the ancient serpent spirit of the jungle itself, to the crater where Atuar had fallen from the stars millennia ago. Drawn in and subject to dark eldritch tutelage. He'd proven an apt pupil and now his revenge was nearly complete.